


The Waiting Room

by mific



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Fanfiction, First Kiss, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Off-World, Rescue, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-18 16:16:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11878179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mific/pseuds/mific
Summary: Jack's seriously injured off-world. Daniel tries to care for him but the hospital they've been taken to is primitive, there's no rescue in sight, and the morphine's running out.





	The Waiting Room

**Author's Note:**

  * For [magickmoons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magickmoons/gifts).



> Written for the 2017 JD Ficathon. Magickmoons' prompts were: Off-world hospital and hurt/comfort.  
> Thanks to Punk and Elaiel for beta help - much appreciated!

Two orderlies pushed a gurney into the far end of the cavernous room and Daniel ducked down in the shadows between Jack's pallet and that of his neighbor, a man whose dark beard stubble contrasted sharply with the pallor of his face. The man's eyes opened and, with some difficulty, slid sideways to focus on Daniel.

Down the other end of the room the orderlies had transferred the latest casualty to a pallet to be left to die, and were pushing the gurney out of the room. They hadn't seen him, hadn't even glanced his way.

Daniel exhaled. He'd managed to steal one of the homespun outfits the orderlies wore—primitive scrubs, basically, but dirty and stained with things that were better left unidentified. If anyone came close enough to notice him, Daniel planned to pretend to be taking a dead body out back to where soldiers had dug a long trench—a mass grave. He'd found an empty gurney and had it nearby in the aisle, just in case. He'd initially planned to load Jack's neighbor onto it if the need arose—the man had seemed dead, not that Daniel had had time to look him over properly. Not so much, it seemed.

Jack stirred and moaned, and Daniel checked his pulse again: threadier than he'd like, and too fast. Could he risk another dose of morphine? He glanced around desperately, but neither Carolyn Lam nor the ghost of Janet Frasier materialized to offer help.

The huge room—a disused primitive factory by the look of it—stretched out around him, two stories high at least, the grimy brick walls disappearing up into deep shadows near the roof. The gloom was cut by slanting dust-filled light from tall, dirty windows along both sides. He had some grasp of the Shosra tongue and had heard them call it the Waiting Room, the place those triaged as unsalvageable were taken and left to die. It was filled with bodies huddled row on row on pallets, the air carrying the stench of old blood, piss, shit and putrefaction, and the cries and moans of dying soldiers.

Across the room someone gibbered deliriously in the language of the Shosra, the people Daniel and his team had infiltrated—ostensibly as traders, disguised in local clothing and head-wraps. The mission had gone to hell, of course. War had swept though the Shosra city they'd gated into and Teal'c had barely been able to make it back through the 'gate with an injured Carter in his arms before the Xan captured the city and began "cleansing" it.

Daniel grimaced. The brass saw the Xan as likely allies against the new threat of the Lucian Alliance but the bastards were ruthless fanatics. While trying to get to safety he and Jack had stumbled on a courtyard filled with the bloodstained bodies of men, women and children—the remains of an outdoor market. Daniel had vomited in a gutter while Jack stood guard, mouth a hard line, hands clenched white-knuckled on his rifle. Daniel would be having words with Hammond about the goddamn Xan if they made it back. When they made it back. Besides, it was a Xan soldier who'd shot Jack in the thigh an hour later when they got caught in a running battle between the invaders and the retreating Shosra forces.

Jack had lost a hell of a lot of blood. The bleeding had slowed now but Daniel had used up all his field dressings and he thought the bullet might have lodged in Jack's femur, maybe fractured the bone. He'd had to give Jack more morphine than was wise, not only for the pain but to shut Jack up and stop him muttering in English. This far from Xan HQ there was no way to explain who they were; if they were caught by either side and exposed as off-worlders they'd be executed summarily and thrown into one of the mass graves.

Daniel guessed he should be grateful they'd been injured in Shosra territory, not left to the Xan's tender mercies. Even so, he'd barely managed to save Jack's leg. Daniel had been knocked unconscious in the fighting and then, he'd later worked out, gathered up with Jack and a number of Shosra wounded and taken by wagon to a field hospital well behind the front line. It was only a mild concussion and he'd come to his senses in the hospital's overcrowded entrace hall. He'd found a supply alcove and stolen the grubby orderly's gear he was wearing, then pretended to help out, only remembering at the last minute to remove the blood-drenched SGC field dressing from Jack's leg and hide it, when a small group of medical staff approached, working their way along the row of prostrate figures.

The exhausted-looking Shosra healer on triage duty had flipped back Jack's robe, grimaced at the severity of the wound in his thigh (bleeding again, with the dressing removed) and had snapped out "surgery" and tied a wooden triage tag to Jack's right foot. Daniel had managed to decipher the tag—"leg amputation"—and had swapped it for one from a nearby head-injured man whose brain was visible through his fractured skull. He'd been tagged as untreatable. Daniel had then transferred Jack to a gurney and wheeled him out the end doors where he'd seen other orderlies taking the badly wounded away to die.

At least no one bothered them here, mostly. There were no nurses, no Shosran Florence Nightingales comforting the dying, just the infrequent comings and goings of orderlies bringing the doomed or removing the dead.

"Danny, thirsty . . ." A rough croak from Jack's pallet.

Daniel turned. Damn, Jack had roused and was talking again. He cast a quick look about while locating his canteen. No orderlies, and none of the wounded and dying had noticed, except for the man next door, watching them, dark-eyed. Daniel gently lifted Jack's head a little and held the canteen for him to drink. Some went in, enough to wet Jack's throat and relieve his thirst slightly. Jack subsided onto the pallet, snarling weakly as his leg shifted.

"I can't give you much, but maybe a half-dose," Daniel murmured. He got out the morphine and injected it into Jack's deltoid. After a few seconds Jack relaxed slightly, the lines of pain etched into his face smoothing out.

"Feels . . . good," Jack whispered. "Kinda . . . warm." Daniel knew from personal experience that pain felt like a clawing coldness, but it probably also meant Jack was shocky. Teal'c needed to get back with that rescue pretty fucking fast, or . . . He wouldn't think that. Couldn't.

"Yeah, sorry. It's a bit cold in here. I put my robes on top of you as well, but it's still–"

" 's okay, Danny. I'm hot enough." Jack giggled and oh boy, that was the morphine kicking in.

"Yes, you are," Daniel found himself saying, amused, which was, shit, pretty messed up, flirting with Jack when he was this close to, this close to being . . . Daniel swallowed.

Another chuckle. "Not . . . in a position to . . . do much about it," Jack whispered, his voice rasping. Daniel gave him more water.

"Well, just hold that thought," he said, and as Jack rested back against the pallet again, he bent down and kissed him on the forehead.

"Ya missed," Jack said, pursing his lips in invitation, eyeing Daniel from under his eyebrows.

Daniel sighed as though sorely put upon and bent to kiss Jack on the lips. As first kisses went it was terrible. Jack's lips were dry and almost unresponsive and his breath smelled bad from dehydration, ketosis, whatever. That was the infirmary's domain, not Daniel's, even if he had a little field medic training, as they all did.

"Thas better," Jack muttered, sounding satisfied, then his eyes slid closed and he was asleep again, or unconscious; Daniel had no way to tell. He rested a hand on Jack's forehead which felt cool, not feverish, but if he was in shock that might not be a good thing. Daniel sighed and put away his meager first aid supplies. He'd given Jack all the broad-spectrum antibiotic they had and there was only one and a half doses of morphine left. He really hoped it wouldn't take Teal'c too much longer to find them.

"You are . . . close." The voice was faint, a bare whisper. Daniel turned and stared at Jack's neighbor, whose dark eyes were open, albeit sunken, his shadowed face cadaverous.

"We're, we're friends," Daniel said, mustering his limited grasp of Shosra. He placed a protective hand on Jack's chest.

"More than that, I think," the man said, closing his eyes, his face stilling. For a moment Daniel thought he had died, but eventually his lids raised again. "It is good to have a shield-brother."

"Yes," Daniel said, because lying was not only idiotic, but insulting. "You're right; we're more than friends."

"You ease his pain," the man whispered, eyes sliding across toward Jack who seemed to be resting peacefully now. Daniel's hand rose and fell with Jack's shallow breathing. He figured he'd put it there more to reassure himself than to comfort Jack.

"I, I'm sorry," Daniel said. "I don't have a lot of the medicine for pain and I don't know how much longer we'll have to wait before . . ." He trailed off, unwilling to let slip his hopes of rescue, or his fears.

Jack's neighbor raised a weak hand in a tiny dismissive gesture. "No . . . need. I . . . no time left. Gut wound."

Not inoperable on Earth, Daniel thought, but here, in the aftermath of war? Yes.

The man arched his head back and Daniel frowned, afraid this was the beginning of the end for him, a death rictus. But he only lifted his hand again and said. "My neck . . . take it."

Carefully, Daniel explored under the torn, bloodied collar, finding a leather thong and a metal amulet.

"Open . . . it."

He slipped it carefully from the man's neck, raising it to see better in the dim light. There was a catch, which Daniel depressed, and the amulet—a locket, really—clicked open. Inside were two miniatures, a calm-faced dark woman on the left, and a smiling man with a red-gold beard on the right.

"Jogon. Died . . . protecting me. Our wife . . . Rissa. We are from . . . Storna, in the north."

Daniel nodded, closed the locket and tried to return it, but the man turned his head away. "Give it. To Rissa."

"I," Daniel bit his lip, frowning. "I don't even know if we'll get–"

"If you can." His eyes had fallen shut, and his face looked even more sunken. A gut wound; he must be in terrible pain. The eyelids flickered open again. "I am . . . Davvet."

"Try to rest," Daniel said, feeling anger and sorrow, and a deep weariness. He hated war, hated military solutions and their pointless, sickening waste of life. Yet he wasn't blameless: he'd killed. He'd kill again if he had to, to protect Jack, or Sam, or Teal'c. He put the locket around his own neck. Davvet nodded once, his eyes closing. Daniel found his wrist—there was a pulse, but very weak.

When Teal'c finally came, Daniel was half asleep himself, sitting there with his eyes shut, hand still on Jack's chest, their breathing in tandem.

"Daniel Jackson. I see that you are prepared." Daniel jolted back to alertness as Teal'c emerged from the shadows to stand beside the gurney. "Can Colonel O'Neill be moved?"

"Teal'c," Daniel said, relief flooding him. "It's very good to see you." He looked down at Jack. "His right leg's badly wounded; we'll never get him to the 'gate, and anyway I thought the Xan had captured–"

"We will be ringed out," Teal'c said, "but we should take Colonel O'Neill to a more private place before signaling the ship." He glanced around the echoing room filled with the dying and the dead, then bent to Jack's pallet. "If you will steady his injured leg."

Daniel nodded and moved to Jack's other side, helping as Teal'c lifted him gently and set him on the gurney. Jack moaned in pain and Daniel soothed him.

Teal'c made to go, but Daniel turned back, unwrapping the last syringe of morphine. "Wait, just a second."

He knelt by Davvet and took his hand, squeezing it. Davvet's eyelids flickered. "I have to go," Daniel said urgently. "My friends have come. Do you want us to take you with us? Our, um, our healers might be able to save–"

Davvet shook his head minimally. "End it," he whispered, so faintly Daniel had to bend to hear him. Daniel nodded, then uncapped the syringe and injected it all into Davvet's thigh. Davvet sighed, then stilled, deeply unconscious or already dead—Daniel couldn't tell. He didn't think Davvet would waken again.

"Daniel Jackson, we must go," Teal'c said, and Daniel nodded, gathered up the remains of his kit, and followed the gurney to the far end of the room, out to a wide hallway opening onto the field where the mass grave lay. Teal'c gathered Jack into his arms again, and the rings materialized, bright light whisking away all three of them.

*****

Storna was a pretty town, or it had been, before the war. Now it was a burnt-out ruin on the banks of a deep blue lake, in the northern foothills.

Beside Daniel, Jack blew out a breath. "The Xan ambassador warned us it'd be a wasted trip, Danny. Apparently this place got caught in the last wave of battles."

An old woman emerged from a half-collapsed hovel to stare at them. "What do you want?"

Daniel showed her the locket. "I'm looking for this woman, Rissa."

"Dead," the old woman said. "Dead dead dead, all dead. Burned. Months ago." Her eyes weren't quite right, Daniel thought. There was an emptiness in them, a darkness.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Why?" the old woman asked, staring up at him with those dark, mad eyes. "Did you kill them?"

"No!" Daniel shook his head vehemently. _Well, maybe Davvet,_ he thought a second later, but Jack was already tugging him away, stepping in between them, protecting him from the old, crazed woman.

"She's just grieving, Jack," he said bitterly as they made their way back to their military escort and the wagons.

"We should get the hell out," Jack said grimly. "This planet's a shithole." He still had a limp although his leg was much better. The bone hadn't been fractured, after all.

Daniel slipped the locket back into his pocket. He was tempted to throw it into the nearest burnt-out house, or into the lake, but the archaeologist in him wouldn't let him. Collecting relics was what he did.

"Yeah okay, Jack," he said, letting himself be pulled along. "Let's go home."

*****

Daniel curled against Jack under the covers, sighing as Jack pulled him close and stroked a hand through his hair.

"Shouldn't have insisted on going back," he said into Jack's chest. "Should have listened to you."

"What, and take the word of those Xan assholes?" Jack shook his head. "Nah, you had to see for yourself. Just wish it'd worked out better."

"Anyway, you're the one that was wounded," Daniel muttered, feeling contrary. "I should be comforting you."

Jack snorted softly. "I was either out cold or high as a kite on morphine. You had the shitty end of the deal."

"I guess," Daniel said doubtfully, not quite ready to give in and relax.

"You can do my PT for me, though," Jack suggested. "Anderson's a power crazed martinet. I'm gonna have her checked out in case she got accidentally snaked."

Daniel smiled. "Ah, no. I'll pass on the PT, thanks."

"Seriously, Danny, it was a lot tougher on you, all alone in that hell-hole hiding from the locals and thinking I was going to check out on you. Not to mention the guy in the next bed you tried to help."

"I guess." Daniel shifted, twining their legs together. "I'm not great . . . I've never been good at accepting, um, help. Comfort."

"Yeah, I get that," Jack said, tilting Daniel's face up for a kiss. "Guess that's another thing we'll have to learn together."

Daniel raised an eyebrow. "What, like blow jobs?"

Jack sighed dramatically. "Trust you to lower the tone when we're having a moment. Just for that, you can slide on down there and get some more practice in."

Daniel grinned. "Yessir," he said, and let Jack push him down under the covers.

 

*****

the end

 


End file.
